Green Eyes and a Halo
by asphaltcowgrrl
Summary: When Wes gets a mysterious visitor, Travis makes it his personal mission to find out just who he is and what he's doing sniffing around.
1. Chapter 1

"_My eyes are green, 'Cause I eat a lot of vegetables,_

_It don't have nothing to do with your new friend" _

― _Erykah Badu _

"Mitchell."

"Detective," the voice on the phone said, "there's someone here to see you."

Wes blinked. No one ever came to visit him, at least, not in an unofficial capacity. Anyone coming for official reasons would have been allowed through after showing their credentials. That meant whoever was waiting out front was either here for a social call – something he was _not_ in the mood for – or just wasn't smart enough to lie. "Who is it?"

He heard the muffled noise as she moved the phone away from her mouth to ask just that. "He says he's from the law offices of McClellan, Dowd, and Pike and that the name should mean something to you."

It did mean something to him – mostly it meant failure and disappointment, but at one time it had also meant pride and success. He briefly glanced at Travis' desk. Seeing it was still empty, he sighed. "Send him through, Julie."

"You've got it."

Wes was thankful Travis hadn't yet returned from whatever harebrained errand he had set off on. He wasn't sure what this peon from the old firm wanted, but he was certain he didn't want Marks privy to the conversation.

"Wesley Mitchell?" The query came from near the entrance to the Robbery-Homicide Division.

"Over there," was the response. "Blond. Wearing a fancy suit. Cranky."

Wes would've resented that last bit if it there hadn't been more than a little truth to it today. Shrugging it off, he turned his chair to face his oncoming visitor. As he came closer, Wes noticed he was young – too young to have been at the firm when he'd been a part of it – and dressed in a suit equal to his own. _So, he's one of the favorites_, he thought. _Interesting_.

"Wesley Mitchell," the young man asked again, this time directing it at Wes.

"_Detective_ Wes Mitchell," he clarified, emphasizing the _detective_ part of his name. "And you are?"

"Aaron McClellan," he responded, reaching out a hand. "I'm –"

And then the heavens opened and the light shone down. Realization struck Wes like a lightning bolt at the pronouncement of his name, bringing back all the things he'd worked for so long to forget.

"I know who you are," Wes said, ignoring the proffered hand. "Aaron McClellan, _the third_, if memory serves. Eldest son to Aaron McClellan the _second_, proprietor of the law firm you are currently serving as errand boy for. A man who, at one time, was directing my future."

The younger man lowered his hand but never took his gaze from Wes' face. "My father was right, you're a sharp one."

This wasn't good. Aaron McClellan II was not an easy man to please and Wes' leaving had done anything _but _please the elder McClellan. What he could have possibly sent his son here for was a mystery, one he didn't think he wanted to solve. "If you don't mind, Aaron, I have a full caseload and if we could cut to the chase, I'd appreciate it."

The smile slipped from the younger man's face at Wes' tone. In an effort to hide his disappointment, he made a show of reaching inside his suit jacket and retrieving a sealed envelope. "My father has a proposition for you." He held out the envelope.

Wes glanced at the envelope, remembering the heft of the monogrammed stationery. "Unless that psychopath Jake McGivers has finally snapped and strangled someone, I'm not interested. You can quote me on that, too."

"Jake – uh, Mr. Mitchell, you don't understand," he began before being cut off.

"I told you earlier, it's _detective_ and I do understand. I left that life behind me and I'm not interested in going back. Ever. Got it?"

Aaron chewed idly on his lower lip, watching him closely. The scrutiny was beginning to make Wes uncomfortable. He tilted his head to the side, waiting for the inevitable rebuttal.

"Not even for what's in this envelope?" He shook it a little to make his point.

"Not even," Wes reiterated. "I don't even want to know how much he's trying to bribe me with this time. I'm not interested. And now, I have to get to work. I trust you can see yourself out?"

Slowly, Aaron nodded. "Of course, Mr. – I mean, _detective_ – Mitchell. Be aware, I will be back. My father's not one to take no lightly."

"Yes, I've figured that out seeing as I've been gone from the firm for a very long time now."

Without waiting for a response, Wes returned to his chair and swiveled to face the proper direction. He smiled as he heard the footsteps retreating behind him. The boy was correct, however, and he knew this wouldn't be the last he saw of him. Old Mister McClellan must be really desperate to get him back if he was sending his son to do his dirty work.

xx

Travis stood in the break room, watching Wes interact with an unknown variable. Whoever he was, he looked like he had stepped right out of his partner's former life and that bothered him. He knew Wes had no intentions of ever returning to practicing law, but the idea that he _could_ go back anytime worried him in a way he didn't quite understand. It was time to get to the bottom of this before his imagination ran away with him.

"Who was that guy," he asked, trying for casual and hoping he made it.

Wes looked over his shoulder, frowning. "No one important," he said, turning back to the case file he had open on his desk.

_Well, alrighty then_, he thought. "Looked like an overpriced lawyer," he tried again. Wes grunted in response, making Travis rethink his strategy. "New case or the one we just closed?"

"The one we just closed," he muttered, still focused on the case file. "Going over the paperwork one last time before I turn it all in."

Travis frowned. He'd written the reports this time and it pissed him off that Wes didn't trust him to get it right. "I did them correctly, Wes."

This time, Wes looked up. "I never said you didn't. An extra set of eyes can't hurt, just in case you missed something."

"Whatever, man," he said, angry at Wes for what must've been the hundredth time that week. "I'm going to grab a coffee."

Standing, Travis stalked across the floor of the robbery-homicide division and out the front of the building. He didn't get it, but Wes refused to believe he could do a decent job at anything and was forever 'going over' everything he did, and it annoyed him. Eventually, he'd have to realize they were equals.

The little coffee cart was in its usual spot, calling his name. _Too bad I couldn't get a shot of something stronger than espresso_, he griped silently. "Hey Caroline," he said, smiling at the barista.

"Morning, Travis. The usual?" Her smile was genuine as _she_ liked him, unlike his partner.

"Yes, that'd be perfect," he said. "And a sugar donut, too."

"You've got it," she said, turning to grab his donut before pouring his coffee. "What about for Wes? You getting his, too?"

That hadn't occurred to him. He was being a jerk, but maybe he wasn't caffeinated enough yet. "Yeah, sure, give me the Mitchell special, too."

"Mitchell?"

The voice came from behind him. Travis turned and studied the man and realized it was the same prick Wes had been talking to a few moments ago. Slicked back dark hair, melted chocolate eyes. He might have been handsome if he didn't have such an air of entitlement about him. "No, I'm Travis Marks," he said, knowing this guy didn't think he was Wes. "Mitchell's inside."

"Yes, I know that," he started, smoothing the lapels of his tailored suit jacket. "I just spoke with him, or tried to. He wasn't very receptive."

So it wasn't just Travis he was being an ass to this morning. Good to know. "And?"

"And I was hoping you'd give this to him for me." The officious lawyer-type held out an envelope embossed with the name of a law firm. The firm rang a bell in Travis' memory, but he couldn't pinpoint why.

"If he refused to take it from you, why would he take it from me?" Now _he_ was being an ass, but it was one of the hazards of working so closely with someone like Wes. They eventually rubbed off on you.

The young man deflated somewhat. "He probably won't. My father warned me he was a stubborn son of a bitch. I ignored him when he warned me because ninety-five percent of lawyers are, you have to be. I just hadn't realized how true that was in this case."

He hated that that made him smile, but 'stubborn son of a bitch' was putting it mildly. Wes was tenacious, to say the least, and did not give up ground very easily. "What's in the envelope?"

Shrugging, he played coy. "An offer Wesley Mitchell can't refuse."

Travis' words lodged in his throat. The firm – it was the one Wes had worked for before joining the LAPD. That was why it sounded so familiar – and it was true – they wanted him back. He had to stop this, he couldn't let Wes leave the force – leave _him_. "Sure, I'll take it to him," Travis lied, already planning how to get rid of whatever was inside so Wes never had the chance.

"Thank you," he said, extending his hand. "I'm Aaron McClellan."

Travis looked at his hand for a second before gripping it tightly with his own. "Detective Travis Marks, Wes' partner." He released the kid's hand wondering why they'd sent someone so green to deal with an ass like Mitchell.

"I'll remember that," McClellan said, winking and walking away.

_You'd better_, Travis thought. Making a mental note to keep an eye out for this kid's return visit – because he knew there'd be at least one, if not many – he retrieved his order from the barista and went in search of his prickly partner.

xx

Aaron McClellan slid behind the wheel of his sleek, black Mercedes and let out a breath. Wes Mitchell was going to be harder to convince than he'd thought. He liked a challenge, it was the reason he'd become a lawyer in the first place, the family business notwithstanding. This was his father's idea of a test and he refused to fail. Besides, with such a tempting prize as that beautiful blond, there was more at stake than just his reputation.

Revving the engine to life, Aaron pulled out of the parking spot and onto the street. The entire drive back to the firm his mind raced with ideas of how he could sway the stubborn, wayward lawyer to return to where he belonged. _He would not fail. _

xx

"Got something for you," Travis announced, placing the cup of coffee on the desk before his partner. Dropping unceremoniously into his own chair at the desk opposite Wes', he opened the bag containing his donut.

Wes watched him munch happily on the fried dough before speaking. "Is the coffee it or should I be expecting something else? Not that I'm ungrateful."

He considered lying again and not telling Wes about his encounter outside, but he knew his partner and that he'd figure out something was up before long. "I met a funny little man in an expensive suit at the coffee cart."

"Oh good lord, please tell me he wasn't harassing you," Wes groaned.

Travis smiled at that. "Naw, just asking about you, baby. He's from your old law firm, isn't he?"

Wes frowned. "Yes, he is. Matter of fact, he's one of the managing partners' sons."

"Oh, a bigwig," Travis said, impressed.

"Not hardly," Wes snorted. "He's barely out of law school. Still can't believe they sent someone like _him_ to _me_."

"So you know what this is all about then?" Travis brandished the sealed envelope he'd been given, catching Wes' undivided attention.

"Why the hell do you have that?" Reaching across their desks, he ripped it from between Travis' fingers.

"He gave it to me and I've gotta say, I didn't think you'd take it from me." If looks could kill, Travis would be a smoldering pile of charred flesh right then. Wes' laser gaze focused sharply on him. "I know, I know, I should have told him to shove it, but in my defense, I was going to burn it and never give it to you."

A harsh bark of laughter escaped Wes' mouth. "Oh, that's good, Travis. And why would you do that?"

He shrugged. "They want you back, don't they? I can't let that happen. You and me? We're good together, even when we don't like each other very much. I won't let you go back to that life."

"I guess I should thank you for having my back, but I'm still not sure you do." He tilted his head, waiting for something Travis couldn't discern. "But you do get bonus points for being honest enough to give it to me."

Travis smiled broadly, soaking up the sort-of compliment from his partner. "I figured you'd know I was hiding something, so what's the point, right?" He tapped his fingers on the desk, stalling. "So, do you know what's in the envelope?"

Wes glared at the offending object, looking like he was willing it to burst into flames right there. "Probably a written job offer promising things they'll never adhere to. Also, a check signed by Mr. Aaron McClellan the second himself, for some exorbitant, outrageous amount of money."

"Are you going to open it?" Travis couldn't hide his curiosity.

"Nope," Wes said, tossing the envelope into the trash can beneath his desk.

"Why the hell not?" Travis stood abruptly, staring at him in disbelief. "Aren't you even curious?"

"Not really, I have no desire to venture back into that world." He met Travis' gaze, holding it steady. "I like where I am and what I do. There's zero temptation."

"What if I'm curious?" Travis sat back down, sipping his coffee. Waiting.

The left corner of Wes' mouth angled up in an amused half-smile. "When aren't you curious about someone else's business, Marks? But if it'll shut you up, I'll open it."

"About damn time," he muttered. It never failed to tickle him when Wes tried to give him the bitch face. He had to admit that the one he was giving this morning was better than the rest. "Well, go ahead. Whatcha waiting for?"

Wes glared at him for a moment longer then retrieved the envelope from the trash. Carefully ripping the envelope, he removed two pieces of paper: one that was obviously expensive stationary and the other closely resembled a check. Giving each a quick glance, Wes waved them before Travis, showing they were exactly what he thought they'd be. Then he shoved them into his desk and shut the drawer.

"Wait, you're not going to show me?" Travis wasn't exactly shocked, but he figured Wes would have given him some detail.

"Why should I? They're exactly what I told you they'd be – a job offer and a check. Now, can we get to work?" Wes shook his head, muttering something about nosy bastards under his breath.

"Yeah, whatever, man. If you don't want to share with your partner, then fine. What's on the menu for today?"

He was pissed that Wes was playing this so close to the chest, but he should have known that he would. His partner wouldn't have ever divulged _every_ detail, not for something so personal, but he figured he'd have at least hit the highlights. 'They think I'll come back for that paltry sum of money? Are they nuts?' That kind of thing. But he got nothing. Nada. Zilch. And that worried Travis. Made him wonder if the offer had been better than expected. Terrified him that Wes might actually be considering taking it.

xx

Travis wandered off to parts unknown – most likely in search of food as it was rapidly approaching feeding time – and Wes sighed. _Finally_. Once he was certain Marks was out of sight, he pulled the sheaf of stationary out of his desk drawer and studied it again, more carefully this time.

_Mr. Mitchell,_

_Our firm is constantly in need of a few exceptional lawyers. You know from experience that we here at McClellan, Dowd, and Pike only accept the best and the brightest. At one time, you were among the top of that class, on the fast track to partner. Had you stayed in our employ, you very well might have been there now. However, I am not one to hold a grudge and deeply urge you to reconsider. A significant boost in salary plus a shot at partner is in your future should you choose wisely. _

_Sincerely,_

_Aaron S. McClellan II_

He stared at the letter for a long few seconds, confused as to why this offer suddenly felt so tempting. None of McClellan's other attempts had ever aroused any interest before, so why now? As attractive as the younger McClellan was, he didn't think that was quite the reason, either. Although, having someone that handsome – and well-connected – around might be a bonus. Wes felt a niggling of guilt building in his gut at that thought, but he pushed it away before it could take hold.

"There's nothing in the break room even closely resembling food," Travis said, breaking into his thoughts. "You want to get something to eat?"

Wes shoved the letter into his desk drawer, sure the guilt was plain on his face. "Food? Uh, sure, why not."

Standing, Wes led Travis out of the station and to his car, wondering the whole time what Travis would think if he had any idea he was considering the offer. He knew he couldn't actually do it, go back into law. The amount of money they were willing to pay him, however, was a good incentive to try. Mentally kicking himself, Wes reminded himself of why he'd left the firm in the first place – the awful mistake he'd made – and how he couldn't ever allow something like that to happen again.

_But then there's Alex, too, Wes_, his subconscious taunted him. It was true – she'd made it very clear that she'd be willing to reconcile if he only left the department and came back to the firm. He missed his ex-wife horribly, her sweet smile, her reassuring presence, but it'd been over a year since they'd split. There were times when he wondered if he could ever get used to living with someone after spending so much time alone.

It was a moot point. He wasn't going back to the firm, he wasn't getting Alex back, and he wasn't going to abandon his partner just because he was offered a crapload of money. No matter how tempting the offer might be.

Or, so he kept trying to convince himself.

xx

Lifting his sandwich to his mouth, Travis watched his partner. Wes had been acting strange ever since his visitor this morning and it was beginning to worry him. He knew he should ask him if something was bothering him, but he didn't know how to approach it. Blondie could be irritable on his best days. And today? Definitely not one of his better ones. Travis took another bite, chewing slowly, watching as his partner played with a French fry. There was definitely something bothering him and a good partner would ask, even if it ended in an argument that might just get them tossed out of the sandwich shop.

Sighing, Travis steeled himself. "You okay man?"

Wes' head snapped up, angry glare fixing on Travis' concerned face. "Fine. Just eat so we can get back to work."

He was anything but fine, but whatever. Obeying orders, he tore another chunk off his sandwich and chewed, figuring they could sort this mess out later, maybe once his ass had calmed down. "Whatever you say," he grumbled around a mouthful of lunch.

"Gross, Marks. Chew before you answer next time." Wes made a sour face, attempting to show his disgust.

Travis smirked around his mouth full of food, accomplishing his mission. Wes was now considering him in a much less angry manner and the relief he felt was palpable. He hated it when Wes was pissed at him, even though he often deserved it – or even encouraged it. Not today, though, today he wanted to get to the bottom of the whole 'why now' question that had been bugging him all morning.

"Wes, question."

His partner looked him over briefly before nodding. "Go ahead."

"I know you were a badass attorney before coming here," he said, wiping his face with a napkin. "So, if you were as good as I hear you were, why is the firm only now looking to get you back?"

Something unidentifiable crossed Wes' face as he considered his answer. At first, Travis thought it might be surprise, but the longer he watched, the more he was sure it was something else. Surprise, maybe. Or was that guilt he saw? _Why would he feel guilty?_

He tossed the abused fry onto his tray and sighed heavily. "Look, truth is, I wasn't _that _great of an attorney," he confessed. Travis opened his mouth to protest and he held up a hand, stopping him. "I know what the Captain has told you and what you've probably heard from Alex, but really, there were better men in the firm than me." He looked away, staring out the window, considering his next words.

"So, if you sucked, which I highly doubt – I've seen you in the interrogation room, you know, I can't imagine how awesome you might be in a courtroom - why are they wooing you now?" He knew Wes was downplaying his own skills and he couldn't understand it. He wasn't a braggart by any stretch, but when it came to something he did well, he didn't mince words about it either.

xx

He had to come clean, but it'd piss Travis off and he wasn't sure he could deal with that today. If he didn't, Marks would keep on pushing and they'd end up fighting in the end anyway. Unhappy, he admitted to the truth he'd been hiding. "It isn't actually the first time they've tried to lure me back."

"What?" Travis dropped the last corner of his sandwich and stared at Wes, disbelief and something akin to betrayal etched on his dark features. "Why the hell didn't you ever say anything?"

_Why, indeed?_ "I didn't see the point," he lied, trying to smooth his admission over a bit. "I didn't plan on going back, so why bring it up?"

"So maybe I could be prepared in a situation like the one we had this morning?" Travis shook his head roughly. "But you don't trust me to do or say anything right, so I probably shouldn't be surprised."

Where the fuck was this coming from? Wes did trust him, maybe not implicitly, but mostly. Travis had the tendency to be impulsive and reactive, but he was also a damn good cop with excellent instincts. Those things he trusted without a doubt. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Know what? Never mind. Let's go." He stood and dumped the remainder of his food in the trash.

Wes watched as he stomped off towards the car, leaning against the door when he got there and couldn't get inside. Something was going on here and he didn't know what, exactly. Sometimes, with Travis, it was hard to even guess. Pushing to his feet, Wes mentally stuck a pin in it to think about later. Right now, they had work to do.


	2. Chapter 2

"_He seems like a man who knows what he wants, and the problem is he wants what I want." – Abbi Glines, Breathe_

"Morning, Rebecca," Travis said as he and Wes entered the robbery-homicide division.

"Morning, detectives," she responded, smiling. "Detective Mitchell, I have a message for you."

Wes stopped, surprised, and took the folded note from the desk sergeant. "Thank you." With a wink and a smile, she reminded him it was her job and to have a nice day.

"That's interesting," Travis said, trying to read over Wes' shoulder. "You never get messages."

Glaring at him, Wes shoved the piece of paper into his pocket, deciding he'd have to read it later, in the restroom or some other equally private place, in order to keep his partner's eyes off whatever it was. "That's because I'm not the one leaving a trail of jilted lovers behind me, Marks. Am I not allowed any modicum of privacy?"

Travis tilted his head, studying him. "Yeah, of course you are. Sorry. I'll meet you back at our desks." Breaking from Wes' side, Travis headed off towards another department.

If he didn't know any better – and surely he did – he'd think he hurt Travis' feelings. But that was impossible because the boy didn't have any feelings to hurt. He filed that little tidbit away to deal with later and pulled the note out of his pocket.

_Wesley – _

_Before you crumple this up and toss it away, here me out. Meet me for lunch today. That little café on the corner near you. One o'clock. _

_Aaron_

Wes stared at the note in disbelief. He wanted to meet for lunch? Just how badly did his father want him back at the firm? This was a bit too much even for the elder McClellan. There was only one way to find out what the younger McClellan was up to and that was to join him for lunch.

There was one small hitch in the plan – Travis. What he was going to tell him to get out of their usual hurried lunch he hadn't yet decided. Maybe he could excuse himself to run an errand, possibly. He'd have to think on it because, like it or not, Travis was actually much smarter than he gave him credit for being.

xx

"An errand?" Travis looked up from his desk and frowned at his partner. "You never, ever run personal errands on company time, Wes. What's really up?"

Wes glanced around the room, avoiding eye contact. "Nothing, Travis. I just have something _personal_ that needs doing and I'd really rather not have you tagging along. Is that a crime?"

"No, it's not," he agreed. _But lying to your partner should be. _"Whatever you say man, do your thing and I'll be here, somewhere."

Standing, Wes left his side, leaving Travis with a sinking feeling in his gut. There was something Wes wasn't telling him and it wasn't sitting well with him, either. It's not like they were besties or anything, telling each other every damn thing that happened in their lives, but they usually talked more than this. Grabbing his jacket, Travis decided to commit the ultimate betrayal.

He was going to follow his partner.

xx

Wes didn't go far – just down the block to that little café he always suggested for lunch. A suggestion, he reminded himself, that he always shot down on the basis it was too fancy, too Wes-like, for a casual lunch. It was becoming apparent that someone didn't find it too uppity and had arranged to meet his partner there today.

Travis pulled his bike into the nearest slot he could find, one that was close enough to still observe Wes and yet not be seen. His partner climbed out of his car, brushing off his pants before donning his suit jacket. _Interesting_, Travis thought for the second time that day. Whoever he was meeting was important enough to deserve the full Wes Mitchell treatment. _Is this a date,_ he wondered. It would explain Wes' lack of explanation – something he loved to do was give Travis explanations on everything – and his sudden secrecy. That odd, empty feeling filled his belly again and he didn't like it one bit.

"Damn you, Mitchell," he muttered to the parking lot. "What the hell are you up to?"

Being as stealthy as he was able, Travis followed Wes into the café, keeping behind an older mother-daughter couple as cover. He watched as Wes charmed the hostess and was led off into the depths of the restaurant. The women were seated next and Travis stood in the lobby alone, waiting his turn. He leaned as far out into the café as he could without being seen, waiting for the hostess to return.

"Just one for lunch today," she asked, welcoming smile planted firmly on two pink painted lips.

"Actually," Travis said, craning his neck, "I'm meeting someone. Can I take a look-see before I get a table?"

"Of course," she said, smile still in place. "Let me know if you need a table."

The hostess lifted a large stack of menus and began arranging them into a more cohesive pile. Travis gave her a thank you nod and stepped behind her, looking around the café for a familiar blond head. _Ah-hah,_ he thought, spotting his partner's form off to the left. Moving his eyes from Wes to the figure seated across from him, a fear he hadn't even considered was fully confirmed. _Oh no_. No. This couldn't be happening, he had to be seeing things.

Wes was having lunch with the enemy. Aaron McClellan.

Son of a bitch.

xx

"Thanks for inviting me to lunch, Aaron," Wes said, glancing over the menu the waitress had handed him. "I've wanted to check this place out for a while now, but it's not quite Travis' style."

"Why not come with a lady friend," Aaron asked, fishing, Wes assumed. "Not every meal needs to be consumed with… _him._"

Wes gave him an odd look before writing it off to Travis' usual effect on people. "Sadly, I don't have any lady friends in my life right now," he confessed. "Not since Alex and I got divorced." He cringed at the worst possible words that could have left his mouth at that time.

Before he could apologize, Aaron smiled. "Don't. I work for a law firm, remember? I hear this kind of thing from the partners all the time. It seems impossible to be a lawyer and a husband at the same time."

"Same goes for being a cop," Wes admitted. "It's almost like you can have a family or a demanding career, but not both." Although, Alex's reason for divorcing him had nothing to do with the demands of his career, but the career he'd forsaken to become a cop. That was neither here nor there, however, and he refused to bring it up. "So, I have to ask, when did you join the firm? I know you weren't there when I was still around. I would have remembered you."

Although, he did remember him. But it wasn't as the man he'd become but rather as the boy he'd been. Gawky, gangly, and wholly unnerved in the presence of all that his father stood for. The younger McClellan rarely uttered a word whenever his father was parading him around and he never, ever made eye contact with anyone. It was becoming apparent that college had done the boy some good – he was assertive, confident and, well, handsome.

_And tempting him with an offer almost too good to refuse. Almost. _

A smile tugged at the corners of Aaron's mouth. "I had just graduated from law school when you left. My father didn't bring me on board until last year, however. Said I needed to work 'in the real world' for a bit before getting a job with him."

"Meaning you had to prove yourself to him," Wes said, knowing how the elder McClellan operated.

"Probably," he admitted, setting his menu down. "I'm also relatively certain that this," he waved a hand between himself and Wes, "is yet another test. I reel you in, I get to keep my position."

"And if you don't?" He wasn't sure if his ex-boss would toss his son out on his ear over something like this, but he wouldn't exactly put it past him either.

He shrugged. "Not sure, but I hope that I don't have to find out."

The smile Aaron turned on him then was loaded with innuendo. Hints that he didn't think he could fail laced with the idea that Wes found him irresistible swirled in the depths of his gaze. Suddenly, Wes felt ill. The idea that they could have a nice lunch, a little chat, and discuss business at the end had fallen flat. It seemed his lunch partner already assumed he owned him.

If Aaron McClellan thought he had enough charm and wit to entice him out of one profession so that he could start all over again in one he'd left, he was sorely mistaken. As far as that went, he had nothing on Travis in the charm department. Wes shook his head, clearing the cobwebs and forcing that unwanted comparison out of his mind. "Look, maybe this was a bad idea," he began, tossing his napkin onto the table.

"Wait," Aaron blurted, desperation written on his face. "Maybe I came off a bit too strong. If I did, I'm sorry. Can we just have lunch and talk shop later?"

Wes tensed, unsure of what McClellan was trying to pull. His stomach growled then, making the decision easier for him. "Okay, but no shop talk until we're through."

"Deal." Aaron reached out a hand. Wes took it, giving the younger man a good, firm shake.

xx

He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Wes and the enemy had just made a deal of some kind, sealing it with a handshake – the way all good lawyers do. "Mother fucker," Travis growled, startling the young woman standing next to him. "Sorry," he said, sheepish at offending her. She gave him a death glare before moving away.

So, this must be it, the end of everything they'd worked so hard for. What was all it worth if he was only going to throw it away the first chance he got? Dr. Ryan's patient face floated into his mind then, but not even she could fix this betrayal by his partner.

_And I trusted you, too, asshole._

"Damn you," he muttered, storming out of the restaurant and sprinting back to his bike. This was why he never trusted people, never gave them the benefit of the doubt. In the end, they always failed you.

Travis stopped short, his bike within arm's reach. Had he given Wes reason to flee to the dark side again? Maybe he'd been the one to fail – no, no, he was absolutely certain that he'd not given Wes any reason not to trust him. To dislike him, yeah, he knew he deserved that sometimes. But trust? Wes shouldn't have any reason not to.

Which brought him back to the boiling pit of rage in his stomach. Wes had deceived him, thrown him aside for something as paltry as a corner office and a nice, fat paycheck. Travis had been tossed aside all his life and he'd made a promise to himself that he'd never let another person treat him like that again. And he'd be damned if the first would be Wesley fucking Mitchell.

Although lunch had gotten off to a rough start, by the time coffee and dessert arrived, Wes was much less on edge than he had been. Pushing the plate containing half a slice of cheesecake away from him, he sighed and looked at his watch. _Fuck_. It was half past two already and they hadn't even had a chance to discuss the offer. Discreetly, he checked his phone. No missed calls which meant Travis hadn't noticed he was missing yet. Not that that surprised him.

"Aaron," he started, looking off into the café before focusing back on his lunch date. "I know we didn't get to business but I have to go – I'm already late."

Wiping his face with the fine cloth napkin, Aaron studied him carefully. Expression, fidgeting, body language – everything pointed towards him telling the truth. But there was a little bit of something… something he wasn't admitting to. "Your partner's going to raise a stink, isn't he?"

Wes shook his head. "No, probably not seeing as he hasn't texted to ask where the hell I am. It's more likely he had some lunchtime hookup and hasn't noticed the time himself."

"Oh, so you have one of _those _partners," he drawled, dragging out the word 'those' like it was an insult.

He wasn't sure what McClellan meant about one of 'those' partners, but from the sound of it, he had counted on the fact that Travis was a bit lackadaisical when it came to schedules. "He doesn't adhere to a strict sense of the lunch hour, if that's what you mean. Even so, I've taken entirely more time than I should have." Wes stood and Aaron followed behind him.

"We'll have to get together again soon," he stated as if it were the natural next step. "Dinner, maybe, where there aren't any time constraints hanging over our heads."

"Maybe," Wes stalled, wondering exactly what McClellan was up to. "This case Travis and I have been working is brutal. Three bodies, no suspects and time is running out on us. Taking lunch was selfish of me, but it needed to be done. I'm not sure when I'll have enough time for more than my usual dinner of a sandwich at the sink. But I appreciate the offer."

"Speaking of offers," he interrupted. "This case you're working is a prime example of why you should accept what my father has to give. No more long days and sleepless nights. Well, not unless you _choose_ to be sleepless." He tossed Wes a flirtatious wink.

"Look, first of all, even if I do decide to take your father's offer – and that's not a decision I've made yet – it wouldn't be until after this case is closed. It wouldn't be fair to Travis to walk away in the middle of the toughest thing we've ever been thrown into. Not to mention my professional reputation as both a cop and a lawyer rests on solving this."

"I can respect that," he said, his voice tinged with something on the opposite end of the spectrum from respect. "But does _he_ really deserve this kind of dedication? From what I've learned about him, he's not the kind of guy you give that kind of deference to. Honestly, he sounds like a flake."

Until that moment, he'd always thought the expression _seeing red_ was just that. An expression. Hearing Aaron McClellan hate on Travis, however, proved him wrong. Wes would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that his rage filled his vision and tinged the edges of his sight with angry colors. "Listen," he growled, "while Travis might be a lot of things – a loudmouth womanizing punk among them – he is a damn good cop and you _owe_ him your respect. If for no reason other than he has helped keep more than one psychopath off the streets of this town. And now, I must leave."

xx

Aaron McClellan watched helplessly as the pissed off detective from Los Angeles' robbery-homicide department stalked out of the café and into the parking lot. He hadn't intended on ticking Mitchell off as thoroughly as he had, but it certainly answered a few questions that had been stirring in his subconscious. Wesley obviously cared about this Travis Marks character. The question now was how much? And how far would he have to go to not only bring his prize to the right side of the fight but into his bed as well?

Shrugging, he tossed a few bills onto the table, enough to cover lunch plus a generous tip. He wasn't in any rush. His father had given him free reign to do this his way just so long as he returned with the cantankerous, sexy blond in tow. Aaron had nothing but time on his hands and he planned to use it wisely.

xx

From the passenger seat, Travis eyed his partner warily. He'd been more closed mouthed than usual since returning from lunch and any attempt on Travis' part to get him to talk had failed. Whatever the two had discussed on their lunch date, it had landed Wes firmly in his own little world. That Wes was mulling anything over that much worried Travis. Even though his partner was known for thinking things through, analyzing every last aspect before making a decision, putting this much thought into something meant he was readying to make a very big choice.

"Hey man, you even in there?" He had an urge to tap on his forehead like Biff did to George McFly. "You've been awfully quiet since we left the station." _Since you retuned from lunch_, he corrected himself.

Shrugging, Wes changed lanes and slowed for the stoplight. "I have a lot on my mind, Marks. Not a feeling you're familiar with, I'm sure."

Travis growled, low in his throat, causing Wes to briefly remove his attention from the road and focus it on his partner. The narrowed eyes and confused look gave Travis a tiny bit of satisfaction. He had drawn his attention for all of four seconds, after all. "Like you listen to me long enough to know if I have anything on my mind."

Wes' eyes narrowed even further. "What is wrong with you today? You're acting strange, even for you. Matter of fact, the more I think about it, you've been acting strange for the last couple days." Travis could see the endpoints linking up in his brain as he made the obvious connection. "McClellan."

"Green," Travis said, attempting to change the subject before Wes caught on too fully.

"No, you're acting weird because of McClellan," he insisted.

"Green," Travis said again as the horn from the car behind him punctuated the sentence.

"Shit," Wes muttered, pressing on the gas and moving forward. "But I'm still right, aren't I?"

"Of course you're right," he groused. "He's trying to get you to go back to law and I'm not going to let you. You'll be miserable if you do." What he refused to say out loud is that he, too, would be miserable, but Wes didn't need to know that. Not yet. "Besides, I'm not sure I trust that guy."

"He's a lawyer," Wes laughed. "No one should trust him. I should know."

There was a hint of a smile on his partner's face at that admission, as if he were poking fun at himself as well as the young stud that was currently sniffing around another dog's territory. Travis felt a surge of relief flow through him, realizing that Wes wasn't taking everything this McClellan kid was saying as gospel. Maybe there was hope for the two of them yet.

xx

Closing the door behind him, he let out a long, weary breath. Today had been trying on more than one level. First, the whole lunch ordeal with McClellan nagged at his brain. That had gotten out of hand way too quickly. If Aaron thought he could persuade Wes into anything that easily, he was mistaken. He gave his lunch choice more thought than that. It was apparent that he hadn't listened to a word his father had said if he believed he could win him over with just a lunch and a bribe.

But then, he carried the air of someone who never heard the word no. The kind of spoiled, pampered brat that a high priced attorney like his father would raise. A kid that thought he could get by on his money, good looks, and charm. Kind of like Travis Marks, although Marks wasn't anywhere near as well off as McClellan was.

_Marks_.

Talk about trying! Travis had been on his last nerve ever since Aaron had made his first appearance. Wes couldn't figure it out, either. He said that it was because he didn't want Wes to make a mistake that he'd regret, but it felt like there was more to it than that. Much, much more. Wes shook his head, attempting to dislodge his racing thoughts. He'd put that one away to think about later, after a bit of food and a finger or two of good Scotch.

Thinking about Travis always made him want to drink. It wasn't right, but it was how it was. That was something else Wes hadn't been able to figure out. Why, in all the partners he'd had – both as an attorney and as a detective – did Travis Marks bother him so much? Everything he did or said spawned a need to correct or reprimand. That wasn't normal, was it?

Something else to think about later. _Add it to the growing list._

A knock on his door drew his attention out of his thoughts and back into the present. "Coming," he called to the front door. Looking through the peephole he saw it was the bellman. "Yes? Can I help you?"

"Sir," the young man smiled, "a gentleman left this package for you at the front desk earlier. I had hoped to catch you when you came in, but I must've missed you."

"Don't worry about it," he assured him, taking the small, wrapped box out of his hand and replacing it with a small tip. "I appreciate you bringing it all the way up to me tonight."

"It's my job, sir. Is there anything I can get for you before I go?" He stood at attention, hands clasped in front of him.

"Not tonight, but thank you." Wes nodded at him before closing the door. "What on earth," he muttered, turning the package over in his hands.

The wrapping paper was thick and shiny, the type of high quality wrap you find in upper crust department stores. There wasn't a card attached and although his instincts were telling him to take it to the station and have it checked out first, he found his finger ripping through the sealed edge, popping the wrapping open. Lifting the lid from the narrow box, he pushed tissue paper aside and spied a cornflower blue tie nestled within. He removed the tie from the box and held it out before him. It was silk judging by the feel of it.

While putting the box onto the coffee table, he spied a neatly folded slip of paper resting atop the tissue lining it. Tossing the tie over his left shoulder, he unfolded the paper and frowned.

_This'll look awfully handsome with that charcoal suit you were wearing the other day, don't you agree?_

_Aaron _

Son of a bitch. Just what kind of game was he playing? Wes didn't have any idea, but he aimed to find out as soon as possible.


	3. Chapter 3

"_Welcome to the wonderful world of jealousy, _he thought_. For the price of admission, you get a splitting headache, a nearly irresistible urge to commit murder, and an inferiority complex. Yippee." – J.R. Ward, Dark Lover_

As much as he wanted to hate the tie, Wes found himself temptingly drawn to it. Picking the note out of the trash, Wes read it over again, noticing Aaron had mentioned a specific suit. _How long has he been watching me_, he thought suddenly. _Creepy._ But he was right. It'd look amazing with the charcoal suit and the ivory button up he normally wore with it.

The suit in question was at the cleaners since he had indeed worn it just the other day. But perhaps… _yes, it would look nice with that navy ensemble as well_. Wes poked around in his closet until he found the outfit he was looking for. Holding the tie against the jacket, he nodded his approval. Although his ivory shirt was also dirty, he was certain he had something that would work.

xx

"New tie," Travis asked, noticing it for the first time that morning.

"What?" Wes had been distracted since he'd arrived. Mostly, he was worried that Aaron would show his face again before he'd figured out how to tell him to shove his job offer. Politely, of course.

"Your tie, blondie. Is it new because I don't remember seeing it before now." He gave it a tug for good measure. "Oh, silk. Nice."

"Tie? Oh, yes," he stammered, trying to get a grip, "it was a gift. _So_ thrilled you like it, Marks."

"You okay today, man? You're acting weirder than usual." Travis leaned in, tugging on his tie once more. "Like something's got you on edge."

"Just you, yanking on my tie and invading my personal space," he groused. "Can we get back to work now?"

Travis shrugged in a very noncommittal way, but released his hold on Wes' neck noose. "Whatever floats your boat, baby."

"Mr. Mitchell?"

Wes hesitated before looking up. He knew before he'd even spoken that Aaron had approached their workspace. The scent of Clive Christian No. 1 had permeated the air around them long before he'd opened his mouth in greeting. "Aaron," Wes grunted. "It's detective, remember?"

"Of course," he apologized, giving Travis a dismissive nod in the process. "Do you have a minute?"

He looked at Travis who was pointedly not looking at him. "Yes, I suppose so. What do you need?"

Aaron's gaze flicked to Travis' presence and then back to Wes. "Is there anywhere we can speak privately?"

Grunting, Travis looked up and glared at Aaron. Turning to Wes, he rolled his eyes and said, "I get the hint. Time for some coffee."

Wes watched him stand and clomp off towards the break room. There was something going on there but he couldn't put his finger on exactly what. "That was a little rude," he said, focusing back on McClellan. "Whatever you need to say to me can be said in front of him."

Aaron ignored his scolding. "I see you're wearing my gift. I knew it'd look good on you, although I wouldn't have paired it with this suit." He reached out a hand and smoothed his fingers along the length of Wes' tie.

Backing away from the unwanted touch, Wes looked to see where Travis had wandered off to. Certain that he wasn't within hearing distance, he decided to get the truth out of McClellan once and for all. "Just what kind of game are you playing, Aaron?"

"Game? I'm not playing any game, Wesley." He paused for a minute before pasting a sheepish grin onto his perfect face. "Well, not any more games than one would expect when courting the best lawyer McClellan, Dowd and Pike ever employed. Can you blame me for pulling out all the stops when it comes to getting you back where you belong?"

xx

Travis looked up from the coffee pot in time to see that asshole run his fingers down the center of Wes' chest. Blondie did pull away, but it took him a moment and even then he seemed a bit reluctant.

"I see you're wearing my gift. I knew it'd look good on you, although I wouldn't have paired it with this suit," Travis heard him say, voice smug and annoying. So damn sure he was the slickest thing in the city.

He forced himself to set the coffee mug down before he broke the handle off it from squeezing too tightly. This jerk wasn't just trying to break up their partnership, he was trying to bed his partner. The fuck if he was going to let _that _happen. If anyone was going to hit that tight ass of Mitchell's it was going to be _him_.

Looking back through the window into the department floor, he noticed that jackass lawyer had his hands on Wes again, smoothing the lapels of his suit jacket, stepping into his personal space like he belonged there or something. Rage boiled within him and he didn't care who knew. Wes belonged to him and no self-important wannabe attorney was going to steal him away.

xx

"Look, Aaron, I appreciate your persistence, really I do, but this has to stop. I don't even know if I want to come back to law." Wes looked towards the break room again, reassuring himself that Travis wasn't close enough to hear the indecision in his voice.

McClellan leaned in, close enough that Wes could smell the coffee on his breath, and slithered the tips of his fingers down the front of his jacket. "How can you not be sure? Wesley, we can give you everything you had before and then some. A nice car, a gorgeous home, hell, my dad said he could even get you your wife back if you really wanted her." He gave Wes a deprecating smile. "Not that you'd want her back when you could have me, right?"

"What?" Wes stepped back quickly this time, gaping at the man before him. "What on earth makes you think I'd want any of that? As much as I loved Alex, it's over and I doubt she'd even consider taking me back at this point. And the rest? You're insane."

"You heard him, lawboy," Travis' voice said from somewhere behind them. "Now get the hell out before I throw your ass out."

"Travis," Wes warned, half hoping he'd ignore him and do it anyway. "Behave."

"Yes, Travis, _behave_," Aaron mocked. "Be a good puppy and go sit in a corner, would you?"

Stepping forward, Travis made to grab McClellan but a solid arm across his chest stopped him. Wes knew he was practically half his partner's size, but he prayed the look he was aiming at him got his point across. "Stop it." He felt a smidgen of tension leave Travis' body, not enough, but still a hopeful amount. "Aaron, please leave."

McClellan canted his head in Wes' direction, a 'farewell for now' gesture that didn't reassure Wes in the least. "Until next time," he said, turning on his heel and stalking out of the building.

He waited until Aaron was out of sight before focusing his ire on Travis. "What the hell is your problem?"

"My problem?" Travis pushed Wes away so that they were no longer touching. "_My _problem? Wes, he couldn't stop touching you. And you – you _let _him! In public even."

"Look," he said, holding his hands up in truce, "he just wants me to come back to the firm and has no scruples in how he achieves his goal."

Travis laughed. "Oh, no, he wants to sleep with you, Wes. I bet he couldn't give a damn whether you ever practiced for their firm again or not, just so long as he got a piece of your hot, white ass."

"My what – never mind," he said, pretending he hadn't just heard what he'd really just heard. "He does not want to sleep with me, Marks. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I hate to interrupt a juicy argument," Kate began.

"Especially one that just might end in the passionate clinch to end all passionate clinches," Amy added.

"But if the looks he was giving you are any indication, he was definitely thinking about sleeping with you."

"Kate, you're crazy. He's a good ten years younger than I am," Wes protested.

"That doesn't mean crap," Amy said, giving him a good appraisal. "You're good looking and in good shape. Plus, that baby face doesn't help things any, does it, Kate?"

"Nope, and that dimple only adds to the adorable chaos." Kate looked from Wes to Travis and back again. "I think we've done our job here, c'mon. I need a donut."

"You don't have to tell me twice," Amy agreed, following her partner out of the danger zone and hopefully into the sugar zone.

"They're both insane," Wes muttered.

"They're not, baby. If he stared any harder? Your suit would've caught fire. No lie." Travis nodded to himself, like he was verifying what he'd just said with some internal database.

"That only means you're insane as well, but I already knew that." Wes sighed, roughly mussing his hair with one hand.

"What are you going to do?" Travis shoved his hands into his front pockets, waiting.

"I don't honestly know, Travis." Wes dropped into his seat, world weary and ready for the day to end. "I loved practicing law, right up until I fucked it all up. And now, now I love being a cop, solving crimes, saving people, locking the bad guys away. It's a lot like what I did before, just more…"

"Hands on," Travis suggested.

"Exactly. Hands on," he repeated. "Much more satisfying, too. What would you do?"

xx

Now that was a stupid question. What would he do, given the choice? He'd stay with his damn partner is what he'd do. The one that had had his back all this time, not the one trying to lure him back with shiny objects and arrogant pieces of tail just because he liked a challenge. He'd continue to work with the one he knew respected him, even if he didn't always act like it. He'd fucking _stay_.

But he couldn't say any of that, not one single honest word of it.

"I don't know, man. Which is more important to you? Money or justice?"

"That's not fair, Marks." Wes looked at him, hurt and betrayal creeping into his expression. "I can dispense justice doing both jobs."

"Yeah man, whatever you say." He picked up his jacket and shrugged like none of it mattered to him. "I think I'm going to cut out and grab an early lunch.

He was halfway to the door when one little detail finally hit his partner. Shooting to his feet, Wes yelled after him, "Damn you, Travis! It's only ten o'clock! Get back here!"

Travis ignored him. If he stopped now, one of two things would happen, neither of which would do him a bit of good. Waiting for Wes meant he'd either pick another fight with his partner, or he'd kiss him square on the mouth, in front of god and everyone, and he'd make sure he'd like it. And _that _couldn't ever, ever happen.

xx

"What the hell just happened here?" Wes threw his hands into the air and sank heavily into his chair.

"Travis is jealous of that twit that keeps coming around," Jonelle suggested, lowering her tush into Travis' empty seat.

He looked at her in shock. "Travis is not jealous, Jonelle. He may be a self-righteous asshole, but I've never known him to be jealous of anything."

The ME smiled the kind of smile you gave to young children and animals. "Trust me, he's jealous." She looked towards the doors the man in question had exited through and laughed. "I'd know that resentful stomp anywhere."

Jonelle stood, readying to say goodbye when Wes stopped her. "Okay, so if he is jealous – and I'm not saying he is or isn't – but if he _is_, why?"

"You are such an oblivious fool, Detective Mitchell." She clucked her tongue, mocking him. "You have an attractive man coming in every day, trying to woo you to his cause. He takes you on a nice lunch, he buys you pretty gifts," she paused long enough to reach out and finger his new tie, "and the ever competitive Travis Marks feels he can't contend. Cue the green eyed monster."

Wes tumbled this around in his brain, looking at all the angles. "I still don't understand why he thinks he even needs to compete with Aar – uh, McClellan."

Her smile morphed into something he couldn't quite read, but he took it to mean he was some kind of poor, pathetic lost soul. Or a raging idiot. "With all the time you two spend together," she laughed. "Between work, therapy and your after-hours get-togethers, you'd think you'd have figured it out by now."

"I really don't understand what you mean, Jonelle," he said, latching onto her gaze and holding firm. He wasn't lying either, because he had no clue what she was getting at.

"I know you don't, Wes, and that's what makes all this so freaking funny." She patted the top of his blond head. "And now, I really have to get back to the morgue."

He watched her leave, even more confused than he had been before. There wasn't any way Travis could be jealous, what was there to envy about Aaron McClellan? Marks made it very clear that money didn't mean shit to him, and he actually believed that. He had a visible disdain for lawyers, with the exception of his ex-wife Alex, so it wasn't that Travis wanted his job. So, what the hell could it be?

Pulling out his phone, he thought he'd do the unthinkable and just ask. Starting to dial, he stopped and decided for a less confrontational solution. Texting. Not his preferred manner of communication, but in this case, it was his best chance of being heard.

_Jonelle swears you're jealous, Marks. I think she's crazy. Which is it?_

He looked at the message for a moment, and then hit send. No taking it back now. He'd just have to wait and see what Travis said in return, for better or for worse.

xx

Travis hadn't made it far, despite his anger carrying him out of the building so damn fast. By the time he'd hit the park bordering the south side of the station, his driving force had fizzled out and he was left, standing, and wondering where he'd been headed in such a rush. He had almost convinced himself to go back inside and apologize. Or, if he couldn't make things right, he'd at least pretend like they hadn't just had what sounds an awful lot like a lover's quarrel and hope to hell Wes played along. And then his phone chirped from his jacket pocket.

Retrieving it from its resting place, he glanced at the screen, frowning at the text.

"Jealous, my ass," he lied to himself. "What the hell does Jonelle know anyway?"

Well, aside from pretty much everything. She'd confronted him about his incessant teasing of his partner months ago, citing a schoolyard crush. He'd denied it then, he'll deny it now. Not that that woman would ever believe him, but that didn't matter. For someone who dealt with the dead all day long, she sure knew how to read a person.

_Miss J is yanking your chain, buttercup_, he texted back. _You can't trust that girl. _

It was a low blow, but it was the best he could come up with on the fly right now. This whole McClellan vs. Marks thing had him off his game and that wasn't something he was used to dealing with. His phone chirped in his hand again, drawing him out of his thoughts.

_So that's a no then, I suppose. How disappointing. _

"What the hell, blondie," he muttered, reading Wes' return text.

_Why the hell would I be jealous of that rich little prick? What's he got that I don't?_

Besides a surefire way to get Wes' attention? And probably more than half a chance at bedding the blond beauty. He shook his head, glaring at his phone, impatient for an answer. Thinking like this wasn't going to do anything but piss him off more.

_You tell me, Marks. Oh, and are you planning on coming back to work or are you going to stand in front of the building all morning?_

Son of a bitch. How'd he know he was out here anyway? "Play it cool, man."

_Sure. Once I've had my lunch, I'll be back. Miss me while I'm gone? xx _

Afraid of what the return reply might be, Travis stuffed his phone into his pocket before it could arrive and made tracks for the parking lot. He had to get out of here and away from his partner before he did or said something even stupider than usual. It didn't miss his notice that while he remained calm, cool, and collected where every other person on the planet was concerned, Wes flustered him. Admittedly, this could be a huge part of the reason why they fought so much – and so passionately – but he'd never been able to admit it out loud. Not even in his private sessions with Dr. Ryan.

Something had to change, however, and soon. If they didn't, Wes was going to shrug those pretty little shoulders of his and walk out the door, leaving Travis sad faced and on his own. Alone, up until the Captain saw fit to stick him with some new rookie detective wannabe. Breaking in a new partner sucked, it was so much work and he already had Wes worn in all the right places.

The idea of Travis having worn any parts of Wes, right ones or not, brought a smile to his face and a searing heat to his belly. Something's gotta give eventually, and he was afraid that it was going to have to be him that did so. If he wanted to keep his partner and try for that chance he'd been agonizing over, then he had to man up and own it.

And there was only one person that could help him accomplish that.


	4. Chapter 4

"_When I thought of Eric with someone else, I wanted to rip out all his beautiful blonde hair. By the roots. In clumps." – Charlaine Harris, Dead Reckoning_

Glaring at the parking lot, he skimmed the stationary vehicles looking for the one lone car he knew wouldn't be in its usual spot. Travis was being irrational, but he refused to admit to the jealousy burbling up inside him. Even the thought of Wes _thinking_ about having dinner, a drink, or even so much as breathing the same air as Aaron McClellan made him want to hurt someone. That bastard Aaron McClellan in particular.

Wes had skipped out of work early today – something he never did – claiming a lawn emergency at his ex-wife's place. While Travis knew his partner was disinclined to let go of his ex-lawn, he was relatively certain blondie was full of it tonight. Alex wouldn't ever call Wes to come tend the lawn, she had a hard enough time getting him to leave it alone as it was.

He could deal with his partner's little white lie though, because it gave him a chance to get out early and sneak over to his favorite foster mom's place for a bit of help. Travis had given in earlier and called her from the rarely-used men's room on the ground level, just off the morgue. A true romantic, Dahlia Perez had been more than happy to help out with her one-time son's plan to woo his mate.

"Ahh, so you're here, are you?" She opened her arms, waiting for the hug she knew wasn't far behind.

"Of course I am, Mama. You know me and food," he joked, hugging her before seating himself in his favorite armchair.

"Oh yes," Carlotta, a young woman just three years his junior, chimed in. "How could we ever forget the appetite that came attached to you, Travis?"

He smirked at her and shook his head, chastising her harsh words. "Lotty, my sister, you haven't changed one bit, have you?"

"No more than you have, Travis." She stood and circled her arms around his neck, squeezing tightly. Releasing him, she sat on the arm of his chair. "Now, is what I heard true? That you're trying to impress a girl? With something other than that Cheshire cat grin of yours?"

"Well," he hedged, deciding how much he wanted to tell them and deciding that they wouldn't judge, no matter how crazy it all sounded. "Not exactly. See, my partner - ."

"Oh, that cute little blond with that even more adorable little dimple," Carlotta interrupted. "I just knew it. He's way too hot for his own good, Travis." She patted his back knowingly.

Travis rubbed the tips of his fingers against his forehead, reminding himself that she was just happy for him and not trying to humiliate him. Even if that is precisely what he was feeling in that second. She was right on several counts – Wes was too damn gorgeous for his own good and that goddamned dimple was going to be the death of him if that McClellan ass kept poking his nose around the station. "It's not that, Lotty," he began again. "Although it kinda is, in a way."

"Travis, baby, you're confusing your old mom here. Clarify, would you?" Dahlia sat on the couch opposite her two grown foster children, waiting.

"Wes was a lawyer, you know that, I think." She nodded and he continued. "A real bas – piece of work – from his old firm has been poking around lately, trying to get him to come back. I just want to – to – oh, I don't even know what I want to say, I just don't want him to leave."

"Because you liiiiiike him, Traaaavisss," Carlotta teased in a sing-song sort of voice.

"I do not, shut up," he snapped, too painfully aware of how it sounded to say anything more. "We make a good team and it'd be a shame to break us up."

Even though they'd broken themselves up on more than one occasion. But that wasn't important because they'd always managed to work it all out in the end, right?

"Well, in that case, I have some work to do," Dahlia stated, rising to her feet. "What do you think, Lotty? Enchiladas or empanadas?"

"Empanadas," the two former foster children answered in unison.

Laughing, Travis added, "and some of that infamous salsa of yours, too, please."

"You," she wagged a finger in his direction, "are incorrigible!"

"But you love me?" Travis pushed out his bottom lip while fluttering his dark lashes.

Dahlia sighed exaggeratedly. "Of course I love you, the incorrigible ones always were my favorites."

"Told you," Travis preened, nudging his foster sister with his elbow. "Always knew I was her favorite." While dodging Carlotta's well-placed swing, his phone rang. "I gotta get this, but you'll call me?"

Waving him out the door, Dahlia nodded, hollering after him to be good, knowing the odds of that were slim and none.

xx

"Yeah," he breathed into his phone.

"Is that how you answer your department cell phone, Marks?" Wes' annoyed voice flowed over the line, sucker punching him in the gut.

"Sorry, Wes," he apologized. "I'll hang up on you and you can call me back, how's that?"

"I really don't have the time for your childishness right now," he sighed in answer.

Travis stopped walking. "Okay, what did I do this time? I haven't seen you in like two hours. Is this time released anger or did I really fuck up and you're only just now figuring it out."

"Will you shut the hell up for one minute, Marks? This has nothing to do with you, okay?" He reconsidered his earlier observation and decided that his partner wasn't so much annoyed as he was upset.

"Wes, you okay man? What's got your panties in a knot?" Wincing at the words, he prayed his partner didn't hang up on him out of spite.

"I'm at a crossroads, Marks, and I really don't know what to do about it."

He couldn't believe he was even thinking this, let alone _hoping_ for it, but he was half praying McClellan had asked blondie out on a date. "What? Can't decide between me or that prick of a lawyer, baby? I might not have his kind of money, but I promise to rock your world."

"Travis," Wes spluttered, sounding half enraged and half scandalized. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"McClellan," he clarified. "He asked you out, didn't he?"

His gut clenched as he waited for the one answer he'd never hoped to hear. Because hearing someone else had beaten him to Wes' heart was better than hearing Wes didn't care enough to stick around. He could live with Wes not knowing how he felt, what he couldn't live with was not having Wes around to torment.

"He has," Wes admitted, a nervous chuckle following the words. "Several times, in fact."

"Did you say yes?" He was tormenting himself now, but he couldn't stem the flow of words.

"No," he spat. "Why would I? He's probably fifteen years younger than I am, Travis."

"The younger the better," he teased, hating himself as he did. "Besides, as long as he's twenty-one, that's all that counts."

"It's not all that counts, but in this case, I at least get what you mean. But no, that's not why I called."

Travis' heart sank. Here it comes. "So why are you calling?"

"Because I'm tempted to take this position he's offering but…" His voice trailed off, making Travis wonder if the connection had been lost.

"But what? You can't imagine spending your days with a bunch of stuffy suits when you could be with me?" He'd been told a number of times that his arrogance skyrocketed whenever he was nervous, but he'd never bought into it until now. Because okay, yeah. _Guilty. _

"Something like that, Marks." He heard Wes inhale deeply, the exhale sounding sad and thready. "Truth is I'm not sure what I want. Meet me at the hotel bar?"

He swallowed hard, knowing he could make or break his case with Wes tonight. "Yeah, of course man. Give me twenty minutes."

"I'll be waiting since I'm already here."

That didn't sound good. Not at all.

xx

Wes sat at the bar waiting for Travis to arrive. He'd said twenty minutes and it was now going on thirty. Wherever Marks was, it wasn't his home or the station, because neither was that far from where he currently sat. Travis wasn't the most reliable person most days, but when he said he was going to be somewhere he usually showed.

Sipping his second Scotch, Wes wondered if he'd been too needy. He intended for the 'give me a reason to stay' to be implied, even if subtly. Lord knows, he'd never be able to vocalize those words to Travis ever. But maybe he'd been _too… _pathetic. Wes supposed he wouldn't know for sure until Marks decided to show his face.

"Gimme a beer," that familiar voice said from his left side. Claiming the stool beside him, Travis slapped his hand against the bar top. "Sorry I'm late. I was at my foster mom's and getting here took longer than usual."

"Which foster mom," he asked. "And don't you usually do that on weekends and holidays?

"Dahlia," he said, a fond smile teasing his lips. "The one who is the killer cook. And no I don't you jerk, I visit them as often as I can."

"Ahhh," Wes laughed, "that would do it. You and food are never very far apart."

Travis looked a little embarrassed at that, but continued smiling. "Yeah, well, it takes a lot to keep a body looking this good you know?" He patted his belly twice before reaching for his beer. Motioning towards the bartender, he asked, "Is he running me a tab or do I need to pay him? I never know how they work in these fancy places."

He was sure he didn't. Travis was more than a little out of his element here, even though it was only a hotel bar. A very _nice_ hotel bar. "I informed him you were coming and asked him to add it onto mine, so you're covered."

His partner looked at him curiously for a moment. "Okay man, we can settle up later, after I've convinced you that leaving me is a stupid idea."

Wes lifted his glass to his mouth in an effort to cover the grin spreading across his face. _So he picked up on it after all_. "No settling up," he stated in a voice that said he'd not even consider it. "But this other bit, why is leaving you such a stupid idea?"

"Isn't it obvious? It's stupid because you'd be leaving _me_."

"And?" Wes lifted his eyebrows in question, waiting for what he knew was the obvious answer according to his partner.

"And," he said, holding a hand out, palm up, "admit it. You'll miss me."

_More than miss you, Marks._ "I _might_ miss you, maybe a little," he admitted instead. "But working with you is such a chore sometimes. You've gotta give me something better than that."

Travis cocked his head to the side, studying him in a way that made his insides crawl with anticipation. "Hmm, so outside of the glory that is me – your partner – what other reason do you have to stay? How about the obvious. You're damn good at what you do. None better, not even me."

_Now there's an admission_. Wes drained what was left in his glass and motioned for another. He idly thought he ought to slow down – three was more than enough for any night – but Travis was here with him and he'd make sure he made it back to his room safely.

_Although_, he thought half-amused, _how safe will I be once he gets me back to my room? _Travis' reputation preceded him by quite a lot. "That's… awfully nice of you to say, Travis. Although, it's been said I was a damn good lawyer, too."

"By who? I don't trust that ass McClellan any farther than I can throw him." Travis upended his beer bottle and emptied it into his mouth. The bartender dutifully brought him another.

Wes smiled, an odd pleasure suffusing him at Travis' irritableness towards Aaron. "Not just by Aaron, but by his father as well. The big name on the wall over at the firm."

Travis made an unintelligible sound at that remark. "What the hell do they know anyway?" He looked at his jacket before pulling out his phone and checking it. "Tell you what, how about you think on it and meet me for dinner at my place tomorrow? Maybe my cooking can woo you into staying."

"Aaron was hoping I'd have a definite answer for him in the morning," he said, twisting his glass on the napkin it rested on.

"Tell him to give you twenty four hours. I guarantee after you have dinner with me, you won't want to go anywhere with him." He stood and looked down at Wes. "Ever."

Maybe it was the Scotch, hot in his belly or maybe it was the way those astounding blue eyes pinned him to his seat. Whatever it was, it caused the most insane words to fly out of his mouth. "Are you trying to seduce me, Travis Marks?"

Laughing, Travis bent forward until his nose was a hair's breadth from Wes'. "I guess you won't know until it's too late, will you?"

Wes tipped his head back slightly, angling to get a better look at his partner's face, praying he wasn't being serious. Apparently interpreting Wes' movement differently than intended, Travis breathed in, shaky and unsure, and pressed his mouth against Wes'. A heartbeat later, both his lips and his presence were gone, removed from his sight, disappearing out into the hotel proper.

Staring after his retreating partner, Wes sat speechless, trying to figure out what had just happened. Touching his fingers to his tingling lips, he decided that dinner with Travis wasn't the smartest thing he could do, especially not now, after whatever that kiss had been.

But not having dinner? That was just unthinkable _because Travis had just kissed him._

xx

"You've got to be the stupidest idiot on the planet," he berated himself while stuffing his head into the battered helmet he'd snagged off his handlebars. "But damn, did you see the look on his face?"

Travis was stuck between hating himself for giving into the impulse and thrilled that Wes hadn't had a freaking meltdown afterwards. Maybe this was a good sign, or maybe this was the defining act in insuring Wes went back to practicing law. Either way, how could he resist those perfectly pink lips as they turned up towards him? They were just begging to be kissed.

God, and how he wished he could rush back inside, grab blondie by his shoulders, and really lay one on him. _One more time, with feeling! _ The thought made him grin, even if Wes wouldn't appreciate his enthusiasm. He was fastening the strap under his chin when an expensive, newer model car pulled in beside him. Looking up, his heart sank. That arrogant son of a bitch McClellan was climbing out from behind the wheel.

"Well, _Detective_ Marks," Aaron McClellan drawled, making the word 'detective' sound like a slur. "Fancy meeting you here."

Travis glared at the interloper, inwardly sneering at his high priced suit and Italian shoes. He knew he really didn't measure up to a man like that, not as far as fashion and wealth went, but he still had an advantage. What you saw was what you got with him, no presumptuousness, no hidden surprises. He was one hundred and ten percent real.

_Okay_, he admitted to himself. _So maybe that might not be an advantage_.

"What brings you out this way, McClellan?" He had an inkling, but he wanted to hear it from the assh – horse's mouth before he jumped to any conclusions.

"Oh you know," he smiled, brushing imaginary lint off his trousers, "looking for Wesley. He invited me for a drink tonight."

_No fucking way._ Travis refused to believe that Wes had invited _him_ to come have a drink when he'd asked _him_ to. Even though the idea that Wes was covering all his bases niggled at the back of his mind, it made no sense. He and blondie didn't go out barhopping very often, but the rare times they did, they sat for hours, shooting the shit and drinking the bar dry. That he'd ask this guy to come along… well, it was unthinkable.

He swore never to think it again.

"Is that right?" Travis straddled his bike, sitting heavily in his seat, feet splayed to each side steadying him. "Funny though because he didn't seem to be in any mood to talk to you last I saw him."

"Well, you must've been mistaken," he gloated, waving his prize before Travis' eyes like the spoiled child he no doubt was, "because he just called me."

_Son of a bitch._ He knew he shouldn't have left Wes to his solitude. _This is what I get for trying to give him some space_, he thought. _And so much for giving it twenty four hours. _"He just called to give you the bad news in person," Travis said, praying it was true. Starting his motorcycle, he revved the engine a bit before letting it settle into a low growl. "Have a nice night."

Backing out of his parking spot, he added, "You arrogant, self-centered prick," where no one could hear him.

Rolling out of the hotel's parking lot without Wes went against everything in his nature. His arrogant side was telling him to go back, to make a stand, to let this jerkoff know where and to whom Wes belonged. On the other hand, his insecure side was terrified of going back in and not winning a confrontation he couldn't afford to forfeit. All the while, his reckless heart was crying out in anguish at the possibility that he might actually lose Wes before he ever had a chance to tell him he even wanted him.

xx

Wes placed his phone on the polished bar top and stared at it. He'd made the call against his better judgment, but it was too late to take it back now. Travis' flirtatious kiss had sealed his fate – there wasn't any way they could work together after that, not if the captain or anyone else in their division found out. Sutton was fond of saying 'there's paperwork for things like this' but even Wes knew that, with as volatile as their working partnership tended to be, no amount of paperwork could prepare the LAPD for the two of them embroiled in a torrid romantic relationship.

He did have to admit, even if only quietly to himself, that the kiss had stirred something inside him, something he had thought died with Alex's rejection of him. Even with as attractive and alluring as Marks was, Wes hadn't ever dreamed of acting on his desires. But now… now he was seriously considering it. Which was why he had to leave the LAPD, even more so if Travis wasn't just playing with him and meant what that kiss had implied.

Thinking about it was making his head ache. Ordering another Scotch, he sipped slowly, waiting for Aaron McClellan, son of his soon to be boss, to arrive and accept the good news. Wes figured Aaron would be overjoyed and more than a little appreciative at his sudden change of heart. The joke was on him, however, if he thought that this meant they'd now be _special friends_. There was one thing Wes never bent the rules on and that was dating someone you worked with. It'd been troublesome enough working at the same firm with his wife. Dating in that same firm – where Alex was _still_ employed – would bring more drama than dinner at one of Travis' foster mom's houses.

Deciding how he was going to break the bad news to Travis, on the other hand, was causing an ache somewhere else. He had expected a bit of sadness at leaving his partner behind, but he hadn't counted on heartache as well. Apparently the little loud mouth had gotten under his skin farther than he had thought. Forcing a positive attitude, he reminded himself of the fleeting yet meaningful press of Marks' lips to his own just minutes ago. Maybe his leaving could open up a new avenue of communication between the two of them? Hell, maybe they could even learn to be friends in the aftermath.

Not that he was counting on that.

xx

Aaron McClellan watched the exasperating detective ride out into the night, his obnoxious motorcycle louder than the semi driving down the street ahead of him. "And he thinks that I'm going to lose out to _him_," he scoffed. "Ridiculous to even consider it. After all, Wesley knows where he belongs and that is with someone like _me_. Someone who understands where he's coming from."

There'd never been any doubt in his mind that Mitchell would cave and come back to the firm with him. His father had practically guaranteed it and he had helped to make that happen. All he needed to do was stroll inside, sit down beside the gorgeous lawyer-to-be-again, and buy him a drink. The rest, as it was said in certain circles, would be history in the making.

Sweet, delicious history, indeed.


	5. Chapter 5

"_For a second I was almost jealous of the clouds. Why was he looking to them for an escape when I was right here beside him?" – Kamila Shamsie, Kartography_

Sorting through the notecards Carlotta had written and added to the package of food – empanadas, rice, beans, and corn – Travis placed each set of directions on top of the correct dish. Setting the guacamole, sour cream and fresh made salsa to the side, he set about reheating the food his wonderful foster mother had prepared for him. He'd just slid the empanadas into the oven when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

_So, how's the prep going, Chef Marks?_

Carlotta could be a real smartass when she wanted to be. So much so that he often wondered if they'd been real siblings in another lifetime. Grinning at her text, he fired off an equally snotty reply.

_Just fine, no thanks to you, missy. _

Although, truth be told, she had been quite a big help. Not only had she helped package the food up for him, she'd also written out detailed reheating instructions so he wouldn't blow the whole deal by cremating his foster mom's handiwork. Snagging a tortilla chip out of the bowl he'd put on the table, he leaned against it, waiting for her return text.

_You watch your mouth, boy. I did more work than you did. _

She had. Carlotta had even taken the initiative and brought the food to him, instead of making him drive all the way to Mama Dahlia's to retrieve it himself.

_You love me,_ he typed, grinning like a madman at the outraged laugh he knew she'd give her phone when she read it. _And you can't stand it when I look bad._

Her response shook a chuckle out of him.

_You wish_, he read. _But good luck with the cutie pie all the same. I'll expect details as payment._

Like that was going to happen. But he knew he had to keep her happy or she'd drive all the way over here and ruin it all for him, just because she could.

_Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, little sis._

Shaking his head, he dropped his phone onto the end table by his wannabe couch, figuring the farther away from him it was, the less likely it was to bring him bad news and interrupt what he prayed was going to be a very, very good night.

"Okay, now if blondie would just get his skinny ass over here, we can get to convincing him he's needed right where he's at."

The radio skipped from station to station – from jazz to hard rock to what he could only assume was the news in Spanish – and back again. Wes had been sitting in his car, in the station's parking lot, for almost twenty minutes now. Even though he'd told Travis that dinner was a go, he was beginning to get cold feet.

_What if Travis tried to kiss him again? What if he let him? _

"What if Godzilla attacks Tokyo while you're snogging your partner," he chastised himself. "Good god, get a grip, Mitchell."

He squeezed his fingers around the familiar grip of his steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Releasing his stranglehold on the car, he tried to relax. While this dinner very well could be the most epic mistake he'd ever make, not going would only leave him with doubts and unanswered questions. Steeling himself for whatever Marks thought he could throw at him, Wes turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of his parking space.

There was no way in hell he'd walk away from Travis without giving him this much of a good-bye. He owed him that, even if he had gone behind his back and turned in his resignation to the captain. Wes wasn't proud of his sneaking around, but he knew it was for the better. He'd at least waited until Travis had left the building before doing the deed. That counted for something, right? If nothing else, it made it seem a tiny bit less conniving.

Although, he knew in his heart that Travis wouldn't ever see it that way.

Looking up from his very improperly set dinner table stand-in, Travis grinned. Wes had finally made it and hadn't changed his mind like he'd half expected him too. An excited flutter stirred in his gut, causing him to pause and reevaluate his intentions.

The knock sounded again and he sighed. "Coming, Mitchell."

Travis pushed the front door open and looked at his partner standing on the steps leading to his trailer. He must've come straight from the station because he was still in the same suit and tie he'd worn earlier that day. Wes' hair had lost its flounce, partially from the long day and mostly from the way he'd been running his fingers through it all afternoon. He wasn't even sure blondie knew he was doing it.

Wes glanced upwards when he heard the door open. A tenuous smile crossed his face, giving him a nervous look. "Going to let me in, Marks, or will I be eating dinner on the steps tonight?"

"All depends on your attitude," he joked, stepping aside so he could come inside. "By the way, you spend the last two hours hanging out at the station?"

His partner's face folded into something unrecognizable before smoothing out into his usual cop face. "No, I didn't. Why?"

Shrugging, Travis pointed out the obvious. "You're in the same clothes you were wearing earlier is all."

Wes watched him as he moved into the tiny kitchen and removed two plates and silverware. "Didn't feel like changing," he replied.

The words sounded like a lie, but Wes never felt the need to lie, ever. No matter how harsh or hurtful the truth, it was what you got from Wesley Mitchell. He felt the urge to get to the bottom of that, but put it aside for later, knowing more important things were on the line. "If you say so," he said instead. "Dinner's ready and waiting."

"So I was just in time," Wes smiled, this one a little less strained and much more real.

"In the nick of, even," Travis teased. "Have a seat, I'll – crap." He looked back towards the bedroom and frowning at the sound of a phone ringing. "Hold on, I need to get that. I'll be right back."

Wes looked up at Travis, surprised. He didn't even know the boy had a landline in his trailer, always figuring he lived off his cell phone. Truthfully, with as little time as either of them spent at their respective homes, a landline didn't make much sense. Reaching for a chair, he moved to sit when a buzzing noise caught his attention.

His eyes swept the room trying to locate what he assumed had to be Travis' cell phone. Spotting it on a table near the couch, he strode over and picked it up, meaning to take it to his partner. His eye caught on a glimpse of the text message and all thoughts of decency fled his mind.

_Is your adorable partner enjoying mama's food or do you have him too preoccupied to eat?_

Not believing what he was seeing, he read the text a second time. The message hadn't changed, but his animosity towards his partner had.

"Sorry about that, it was one of my foster moms. She refuses to ever call my cell. Says she doesn't want to interrupt any possible 'police business'." Travis came into the miniscule living room and stopped dead at the sight of Wes holding a cell that didn't belong to him.

"Who's Carlotta, Travis?" Wes prayed his voice remained calm, if it wavered one bit, he might lose it right here.

"My foster sister, Wes. We've talked about her, remember?" He took a step forward, hand out. "Did she call?"

"Nope," he replied, the 'p' popping like a balloon. "She sent you a very interesting text, however."

"Oh shit," he muttered. "What does it say, or do I want to know?"

Wes dumped the cell into Travis' hand, fingers lingering on Marks' for the briefest of seconds. "To summarize, she said you're a liar. And a whore. I think I'm going to go home now."

"A liar?" Travis glanced at his phone quickly before rushing out the door. "I'm not a liar!"

Stopping several feet from his soon-to-be ex-partner, Wes laughed. "Really, Marks? You're upset I called you a liar and not a whore? Unbelievable." Although it wasn't, not when you considered Travis' history.

His fingers had just landed on the cool metal of the door handle when Travis' voice rang out, the desperate tone tearing at the icicles on his heart. "Wes, wait man. Please." He ran down the steps and skidded to a halt in front of Wes. "I did lie – about making dinner – and I'm sorry. But you know I can't cook and I couldn't think of any other way to get you here with me."

He had a point. Suddenly ashamed that he'd fallen for what was obviously a ploy, he gave himself a mental boot to the ass. "So you lied to get me here alone, huh? Does this mean you _are _a whore?"

"No – well, okay yeah, maybe I am, a little – but that's not why I wanted you to have dinner with me."

"Then why, Travis?" He held his hands out in a pleading gesture. "Why lie?"

"Because I'm afraid you're going to leave me for that prick of a lawyer and I needed to get you alone to convince you to stay." His body bent forward, as if the weight of the truth had been too much for him. He placed two wide palms on his firmly muscled thighs, staring at the ground.

"It's too late," Wes said quietly. Moving to within inches of his now-ex-partner, he reached out and touched Travis' shoulder. "I turned in my resignation this afternoon. I start back with the firm on Monday. I'm sorry, Travis, but this is what has to happen."

"Then I guess there's no reason for you to stick around here, is there?"

Wes waited for him to look up, to get angry, to do something, but nothing was forthcoming. Unsure of what else he could do, he squeezed Travis' shoulder one last time before pulling his hand away. "Goodnight, Travis. Stay safe."

He managed to hold it together long enough for Wes to pull out of the drive and putter out of sight before the shaking started.

Before the sobs arrived…

…and before his world ended in a crash of his breaking heart.

Looking at himself in the mirror, Wes studied the dark circles under his eyes. The night hadn't brought him any rest as the fight he'd had with Travis played on a continual loop in his brain. He could have been more understanding, sure, and he probably could have listened more, but the fact was, Travis had lied. Travis _always_ seemed to be lying about something and it was more than he could deal with.

Sighing, he ran a comb through his short, blond locks unsuccessfully taming his wayward cowlick. Afraid to face Travis, he'd taken the rest of the week off and now had two days without anything to do or anywhere to go. It wasn't a feeling he was used to and admittedly, it left him feeling a bit restless. He never thought two days' worth of vacation would leave him feeling so adrift.

His cell vibrated in his pocket, startling him. _Travis_ was his first though before reality crashed in. No more calls from Travis ever again – neither case related nor personal. Pulling it from his pocket, he checked the screen. "McClellan," he muttered, swiping the display and putting it to his ear. "Mitchell."

"That's going to have to be the first thing we change, Wesley," Aaron drawled into his ear. "You'll scare all your clients off if you answer your phone that way."

He prayed he wouldn't have to worry about how he answered his personal cell phone, but instinctively knew he would. The firm gave them no privacy and even less time off. Suddenly, he began to rethink his decision to return to law. Not that working in law enforcement was any better, but still, it was much less invasive at times.

"You're always welcome here," Captain Sutton had told him. "If this lawyer baloney doesn't work out for you, don't forget where your home is, Mitchell."

_Home_. A concept he wasn't sure he even understood these days. "Sorry, Aaron. Force of habit. What can I do for you?"

"Come have dinner with me," he suggested with just a hint of something more lingering in his words. "We'll celebrate your return to the firm and discuss… our options."

Wes stopped dead. _Options_? He knew that he had absolutely zero chance of a personal life for at least the next six months, but if and when he did decide to date again, it wasn't going to be with this guy. He'd thought he had made it clear that he had no interest in dating the younger McClellan, but apparently he owned more of his daddy's traits than he realized. Being thickheaded ran in the family. "What options would those be?"

"Now Wesley, I thought it was obvious that I was interested in you." Aaron took a deep breath and let it out slowly, the sound tickling at Wes' ear. "So, when I say options, I mean our options… as a couple."

And that was exactly what he'd been afraid of. "I don't date where I work, Aaron," Wes repeated for the fiftieth time. "I think I made _that_ clear in several of our conversations. It never works out and makes everything complicated in the long run." He laughed, short and abrupt. "Not to mention my ex-wife is still employed by your firm and that would lead to nothing but awkward questions and even more awkward meet-ups by the water cooler."

"We don't have anything as droll as a water cooler," McClellan responded, indignant.

"It's a figure of speech," he grouched. At times like this, Marks was definitely the easier one to deal with. "But my point remains the same. It's problematic enough dating a co-worker, but when said co-worker is the owner's son, it gets messy. Thrown in a spurned ex-wife who has no idea her ex even had a passing _fancy_ for other men and, well, I guess you can figure out how chaotic that would make everything. I want none of it."

Wes paced the length of his hotel room waiting for Aaron to respond. He'd obviously hit a sore spot with the younger man, but he couldn't be bothered to give a damn at the moment. Maybe being blunt was what the kid needed. Thankful he'd kept the knowledge that the only man he wanted a piece of was his ex-partner to himself, he sighed heavily. "Aaron, you still there?"

"Yeah," he breathed, the false bravado stripped from his words. "You don't like me much, do you?"

Growling, Wes ran the fingers of his free hand roughly through his hair. Why did it always come down to 'you don't like me' whenever he stuck to his principles? It was a trick Travis had learned early on that damn near always worked. Maybe it was because Travis knew he was essentially friendless, but McClellan couldn't possibly know that, could he? Although, it very well could have been Marks' insecurities seeping out through the cracks, too.

_Stop it_, he admonished himself. Travis Marks had no insecurities. He was way too full of himself.

"Aaron, it's not that at all," he said, wincing at the idiocy of his words. "I meant what I said: I don't date where I work." _No matter how temping the offers. _"It has nothing to do with you."

"I understand," he said, a twinge of disbelief hanging onto his words. "We'll still see you on Monday however, right?"

"That is affirmative, Aaron. I will talk to you on Monday." He hoped that his unspoken point had been made and ended the call.

Tossing his phone onto his unmade bed, Wes turned back to the mirror he'd been studying minutes before. He still didn't like what he saw looking back at him, but he knew that that would eventually change. As he came to grips with this forced change, he'd adapt and even come to like being a lawyer again. Grabbing his toothbrush, his mouth had just begun to froth when his cell rang – again.

"Fthking Aaron," he spat, toothpaste foam flying across the mirror and his arm. Making a face, he wiped his mouth with the nearest washcloth and dove for his phone. "Mitchell," he said, smearing Colgate across the mouthpiece.

"Yanno," a familiar voice dripped into his ear, "your new hoity-toity clients aren't gonna appreciate you answering your phone like that."

"Oddly enough, Marks, this is not the first time this has been brought to my attention today." Why the hell was Travis calling him?

"Huh, interesting," he said. "Or disturbing, because I'm pretty sure the other person to bring this to your attention was that prick –"

"Will you please stop calling him that," Wes protested.

"Fine," he reluctantly agreed, "but it's still true."

After their discussion a few minutes ago, Wes was inclined to agree with him. "Why are you calling me, Travis?"

"Because you didn't come into work," he said. The _duh, idiot_ was obviously implied. "And you didn't call me either, you ass. What's the deal?"

_Shit._ He'd meant to send Travis a text, telling him he was taking his last couple days as vacation, and had forgotten. Actually, he'd chickened out, but he refused to even admit that one to himself. "I meant to call you – and honestly, I thought the Captain would've told you – but I took my last couple days as vacation."

"Uh-huh," Travis drew the two syllables out for a very long time.

"And, I forgot, I guess," he ended, feeling lame.

"Well, thanks for nothing, you bastard."

Wes pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at the 'call ended' flashing on his screen. Travis had hung up on him, it seemed, which didn't bode well for his ex-partner's emotional state. With a dejected sound, he tossed his phone back onto his bed and waited for the incoming nuke that was surely headed his way. One branded with a pair of blazing blue eyes and the mouth of a drunken sailor.

"Hey Cap," Marks said from the doorway. "Got a minute?"

"Of course, come in, Travis. Have a seat." The little man stood and waited for his finest detective to take one of the seats before him. He frowned at the empty one beside him, the one that had always been occupied by his partner before that day. Reclaiming his own chair, he offered the detective some green tea.

"No thanks, Cap," he declined, waving a hand before him. "I just need a favor."

He'd expected this since Mitchell had turned in his resignation. Marks was a fantastic detective, but he was going to be a bit lost until he found his rudder without his anchor. A smile crossed his face at the idea of Travis floating, anchorless in the ocean, and a chuckle escaped him. "Sorry," he apologized, "what do you need, Marks? Anything I'm able to do, consider it done."

Travis looked out the glass windows that opened onto the floor of the robbery-homicide division and sighed. "I need a few days, Cap. To figure all… this… out."

Sutton nodded, understanding. He'd expected this as well and he'd debated as to whether he should let Marks have the time off or not, knowing he was going to run straight to Mitchell and cause a scene. Rolling his eyes, he remembered some of the more amusing scenes Marks had caused right here in the middle of the RHD. He caught the smile before it could sneak out this time, maintaining his serious air. Dr. Ryan had told him to let the boys have it out because it was the only way they'd ever air their grievances and be able to heal, but he wasn't certain letting them at each other without supervision was such a good idea. In the end, he knew what he had to do. "Take as long as you need, Marks. We'll have a new partner here for you when you return."

"Thanks, Cap," he said standing and facing the door. Looking back over his shoulder at the diminutive Sutton, he shook his head. "And like hell you will. I'm bringing Mitchell back _home_ whether he likes it or not."

Sutton watched his determined detective walk out the door and off to get his man. Just like he always did. But this time, he wondered if he'd succeed or not.


	6. Chapter 6

"_So are you here alone or is there someone looking daggers at my back right now, ready to challenge me to a duel?" – Somi Ekhasomhi, Always Yours_

Travis fidgeted, looking at his many reflections in the fancy mirrored walls of the elevator. He'd often wondered why Wes had to live so damn far _up_ in the hotel, but he probably hadn't had any control over that. Although, on the other hand, the rooms got nicer the higher you got.

_And why the fuck was this elevator taking so long?_

After what seemed an eternity, the gilded carriage came to a smooth stop, the doors opening with a pleasant ding. Travis pushed through the doors before they'd fully opened and turned left down the hallway towards Wes' ersatz home. Spying the number he knew to be his ex-partner's – no, his partner's, damn it – he stopped and rapped heavily on the door.

"Hold your horses," he heard the blond mutter from the other side of the door. "I'm coming."

"I will not hold my horses, you jackass," Travis said to the barrier between him and his goal.

He could have sworn he heard Wes swear, but he couldn't be positive. The door opened a crack and one blue eye peeked out at him. "Go away, Travis."

He thrust his hand against the door, pushing Wes backwards along with it. "I will not, and you want to know why I won't?"

"Not really," Wes admitted, stepping back before Travis could knock him on his ass. "But I'm sure you're going to tell me, aren't you?"

"You're damn right I am," he said, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Can you not, for once, Marks?" Wes rubbed his forehead with his fingers. "My neighbors will complain."

"Uh, sorry. Didn't mean to shut it so hard," he said, making an apologetic face. "Anyway. As I said a minute ago, I'm not going to go away because you're making a huge mistake, Wes. You've got to see that."

Wes shook his head and strolled into the kitchen-like area of his excessively large hotel room. "I am not, Travis. I was a lawyer for years and I was very happy with that life. I can be again, too."

"Until you send another innocent man to jail," Travis added, following him.

"That was a mistake and I've promised myself it won't ever happen again." He looked at the mini fridge for a moment before sighing and opening it. "I know better than to ask because you might never leave if I do, but do you want a beer?"

Travis shook his head. "Naw, man. I want you to listen to me."

He looked up from the open mini fridge and stared. "What is your problem tonight?"

Good question. It was more than the fact that Wes was abandoning him and it went way beyond the end of their partnership. But was he able to confess to his true feelings or would he chicken out like he always seemed to? He supposed he'd find out before long. "My problem is you, you stupid, stubborn, selfish asshole!" He hadn't meant to shout and grimaced at his passion.

Wes pushed the fridge door closed, stalking over to stand in front of Travis. "Stubborn? Selfish? Are you sure you're talking about me and not yourself? Because from where I'm at, it sure sounds an awful lot like you, Travis Marks."

His voice had dropped into that low register, the one that he used in interrogations, that take-no-prisoners octave that always started something bubbling in his belly. And fuck it all, sent his cock into paroxysms of need. "Nope, I'm pretty sure I mean you."

"Okay, I'll play," Wes stated, getting toe to toe with Travis in his tiny almost kitchen. "Why am I stubborn, selfish and whatever else you called me?"

"Stupid," Travis supplied, helpfully. "It fits because until I let my feelings known the other night, you were hell bent on telling McClellan, Dowd and who the fuck ever to take a hike. And then – then I kissed you and the next day, you ran away."

He watched the color drain from Wes' face, leaving blondie even paler than usual. He'd hit his mark as he had hoped. Travis wasn't sure when the connection had formed in his brain, but it had eventually been made, which was why he knew he had to confront Wes and not back down. The only reason he could fathom for Wes' abrupt change of plans was that damn kiss. It hadn't been planned – more of a last ditch effort to sway Wes' decision – and it backfired. Epically.

"I didn't run because you kissed me," Wes breathed, tilting his head up to look into Travis' eyes. "I ran because I wanted you to do it again."

"What does that have to do with anything, baby?" He cupped Wes' chin in his hands, keeping him from turning away.

"We can't work together… like _that_." He swallowed, trying to look away.

"Yeah, we can," Travis said, stroking a cheek with his thumb. "It will make things more difficult," he started.

"Anything involving you is always going to be difficult," Wes interrupted.

"Point," Travis said, grinning, "but just because it's hard doesn't mean it's not worth it." Kind of like his cock at that moment, solid and aching and throbbing. And one thousand percent _worth it._ "That we aren't worth it."

"This is inviting trouble," Wes said, looking away from Travis' soul-sucking blue eyes.

"Naw," he laughed, shaking his head. "This isn't inviting trouble, although _this _might be."

Using the hands cradling Wes' face, Travis brought the blond nearer, bringing his lips down to meet his. A soft brush of warm skin melted into something firmer, hotter. Wes resisted for all of four seconds before relaxing into the kiss. Small, sharp breaths punctuated each touch of Travis' mouth to his. "Travis," he pleaded before being cut off with yet another kiss.

He pulled back briefly, touching a thumb to blondie's swollen bottom lip. "You said you wanted me to do it again," he said, dipping in for a quick graze. "This is me doing it again… and again."

Wes opened his mouth to protest and Travis stopped him before he could begin, halting the words with the slide of his tongue. He tasted of coffee and something sweet, exactly how Travis had always thought he would. That his partner was addicted to caffeine wasn't any surprise, but the secret stash of candy he stowed in his desk was to everyone but himself. Blondie craved sugar when he was strung out emotionally and Travis had eventually discerned a pattern in it all. M&M's when he was feeling down and out, Tootsie Pops when he was deliberating a difficult piece of information. When he was stressed, however, he went for…

Laughing, Travis patted Wes on his cheek. "You are so busted, baby," he teased.

"Busted," Wes asked, startled.

"You've been eating licorice," he informed him, licking the curve of Wes' lower lip. "You taste like strawberries."

"So?"

"So," Travis continued, nipping at the edge of Wes' mouth. "You only eat Twizzlers when you're stressed. When you think you've made a bad decision."

He'd even admitted as much to him one afternoon. Licorice was great for mulling things over – it was chewy, it was sugary, and you could use it to smack the crap out of your partner when he harassed you about it. Travis grinned at how he'd found that last little tidbit out.

"_Know why they call them licorice whips, Marks?" Wes had asked. _

"_No clue," he'd responded before being whacked on the arm with a twelve-inch stick of strawberry candy. "Ouch!"_

"_That's why," Wes had grinned, biting the end off of his candy. _

"Or when I need a ready-made weapon," he joked, stepping away from Travis' questing lips. "Travis, this is a bad idea. I'm not sure…"

He placed a finger over Wes' lips. "I know, I'm not sure I'm ready either. I just know that seeing you with that prick pissed me off and not just because he was trying to get you to come work for him." Travis dropped his hand from his partner's mouth and instead rubbed it against a stubbly cheek. "I suddenly understood that I couldn't lose you in any way and still be happy."

Wes' tongue skimmed across the breadth of his bottom lip while he thought. "So, what do you propose we do?"

A suggestive smile slid across Travis' face. He knew what he wanted to say – and he figured it was probably obvious on his face, too. "How about we just try this for a bit before we decide anything?"

The blond watched him for a long moment, taking in every inch of him like he'd never really seen him before. "I think maybe we can start there."

Grinning, Travis pulled him in close for yet another kiss.

xx

Wes' blond head rested against Travis' broad bare chest, fingers toying with the short, dark hairs covering the expanse of skin and muscle. He hadn't thought the two of them would fit on his couch, but somehow they'd managed to finagle their bodies into cooperating. Most of that had to be credited to Marks' hidden ingenuity. Or years of practice, he wasn't sure which – and didn't care to think about it at that moment.

"What are you thinking about," Travis murmured against his ear, breath tickling as it passed by.

"Nothing much," he said, readjusting his leg so it rested against his partner's denim-clad lower half. "And everything at the same time."

Travis chuckled softly. "That sounds about right for you," he said, ruffling the back of Wes' hair.

"I know I asked this earlier, but what next? What do we do now that we've both come clean?" He tried to push up onto his elbows, but a strong arm held him to his newly declared boyfriend's side.

"Well," Travis said, drawing the word out, "you could call that prick and –"

"Will you stop calling him that, please? It's not his fault he did what he did."

"Fine. You can call _Aaron_ and tell him you've changed your mind about the job offer for starters." He pressed a kiss to Wes' forehead in apology for insulting the little bastard. "And we'll have to agree to disagree on that last part because I have no doubt he knew what he was doing all along."

He could live with that, just so long as they didn't fight about it for the rest of the year. "Let me up so I can make the call."

"Nope," Travis denied him. "Make it from right here, in my arms."

"What?" Wes laughed against Travis' chest, loving the feel of his warm skin beneath his face. "Why?"

"So you don't forget why you're calling him," he said as if it should be obvious.

"Not sure I could forget, Marks." He didn't argue the point, he just wiggled his cell phone out of his pants pocket and brought it between the two of them.

"Put him on speaker," Travis requested as Wes dialed.

"You are such a voyeur," Wes scolded him.

"You have no idea," Travis responded, smiling.

"Please remind me not to ask you what you meant by tha – oh, Aaron, hi." Wes grimaced at Travis and made one last attempt at getting out of his arms.

"Wesley," he said, apparently not noticing he was on speaker. "How nice to hear from you. I bet you can't wait to get back to the old grind, can you?"

Wes flicked a look at Travis, taking strength from his partner's presence. "Not exactly," he stalled. "But it is kind of why I'm calling…"

xx

McClellan didn't take the news well – not by a long shot. There was a lot of yelling, followed by a bit of swearing before he returned to yelling. By the end, Aaron McClellan had resorted to begging Wes to reconsider and it hadn't been pretty. When the angry lawyer had finally stopped shouting and hung up, Wes had buried his face in the crook of Travis' arm, unable to look at the phone any longer.

"It's gonna be okay, baby," he purred, smoothing his hand along the back of Wes' head. "He'll get over himself before long. But," he said, tickling Wes behind his ear, "if he even thinks about asking you out again, I'll kill him. Got it?"

Rolling his eyes, Wes nodded. "Got it, Marks."

"Good because this time, I'm not playing his damn games." He brushed his lips across Wes' adorable cowlick, sealing the promise with a kiss.

Travis pulled Wes into his arms, cradling and cuddling him close. There was still a long road ahead of them both – a rocky one lined with obstacles called work, family, and life – but he was determined to find a way to make it work. He'd never been so sure of anything until this. Until him.

Even though any sort of real physical intimacy was still a long way off, he felt content with where they were and happy to have gotten as much affection as they had shared. It was a start, and more than he had hoped for when he'd stormed through Wes' front door a few hours ago. Some days you were thankful you were allowed through that door and whatever came after was a bonus.

Stroking his fingers along the line of Wes' spine, he watched as his partner's – naw, his _boyfriend's_ – breathing slowed into an even, steady rhythm that indicated he'd fallen asleep. Relaxing back into the couch, he settled in for what he hoped was going to be a long night with his buttercup in his arms. After all, he had nowhere to go and a long time to get there.


End file.
